


in the worst of places

by tosca1390



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“She didn’t know,” Lizzie says, stretched out on the couch in the den. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Over the phone, Charlotte sighs. “You assumed she did?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	in the worst of places

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: A KNEE-JERK REACTION TO NARRATIVE ASSASSINATION. 
> 
> A companion to [the fabric of our life gets torn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/666436).

*

“She didn’t know,” Lizzie says, stretched out on the couch in the den. 

Over the phone, Charlotte sighs. “You assumed she did?”

Silent, Lizzie wrinkles her nose and stares up at the too-white ceiling. The den is lifeless; but this is where all her books are, so here she is. She thinks she can still hear Lydia crying, one floor away. Her mother is haunting the halls, trying to figure out exactly what’s happened in the last four hours. 

“Lizzie, come on. She’s not dumb.”

“I don’t know,” Lizzie says shortly. “I don’t know what I thought. I – “

“You thought she was that mad at you,” Charlotte retorts. “Which is ridiculous.”

“Fine, then I’m ridiculous,” Lizzie says, sour and pinched. “Now I have to fix this.”

Charlotte lets out a slow breath. “Well, if he filmed her without her consent and is now offering it for viewing without written approval, it’s a violation of her privacy. But you need a lawyer, and a good one. Especially considering the videos _she’s_ been making with him in them.”

“But – you saw! You saw how horrified she was when she found out on tape!” Lizzie exclaims, sitting up. “That’s proof enough!”

“You know better than anyone how slippery George Wickham is. Not even Darcy got him, and that was his _own_ sister,” Charlotte says flatly. 

Huffing, Lizzie leans her elbows on her knees. “Okay. Okay.”

“How are you going to avoid telling your parents, too?”

“I don’t know! I’ll think of something,” Lizzie murmurs. The camera and tripod are still set up, staring at her, challenging her. She purses her lips. 

“What do you want to do about the video?” Charlotte asks after a moment. 

“Post it,” Lizzie says without hesitation. 

Charlotte pauses, the silence heavy between them. “Are you sure, Lizzie?”

“Yes,” Lizzie says, standing. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “It’s proof against Wickham’s case, if he has one. It’s a recorded frame of reference.”

“You know, you don’t come off very well in this.”

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “I don’t come off very well in a lot of these. If it helps Lydia in the long run, I’m okay with that.”

“Well, you should probably check with her first.”

“Yeah – yeah, I will,” Lizzie says, her hand curling into a fist at her side. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Slipping her phone in her pocket, Lizzie takes the camera and tripod and heads upstairs. She’s tired of getting side-swiped by the machinations of others. Perhaps it’s time for a little bit of a counter-attack. 

*

Lydia, red-eyed and puffy-cheeked, stares at her. 

“You want me to what?” she asks blankly, voice cracked and thick. Lizzie could kill George Wickham right now, she absolutely could. 

“Tell your side of the story,” Lizzie says, sitting next to her baby sister, shoulder to hip to knee, on her small twin bed. “Your videos – with him – look, I don’t want to put words into your mouth – “

“I made those because I wanted to,” Lydia says, voice very low. “Going to act like little Miss Priss about those too?”

“No, okay? No.” Lizzie sighs, glancing around the room. It’s changed little since Lydia was young; perhaps that’s the problem. Lydia has changed, because people _do_ ; they all have. Except for, apparently, George Wickham. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Mouth set into a thin line, Lydia wipes at her eyes. “I just can’t believe you would think I would do something like that.”

“I – I don’t know. I can’t believe I did either,” Lizzie says, tucking her hair behind her ears. The guilt sits heavily in her stomach, on her chest. When did she turn into this shrewish, closed-off person? “But I want to help. I want to fix this.”

“You said it yourself: the internet is forever. How do you plan on _fixing_ this?” Lydia asks through a hiccup. 

“If you didn’t know – I assume – “

“ _Lizzie_ ,” Lydia all but snarls, lip curling. “Do you _really_ think – “

“Okay, okay!” Lizzie says, jumping to her feet. “So you didn’t know, and he didn’t ask your permission to make it available to the public. It’s a violation of your privacy. We can get it down before it goes out to everyone that way.”

Rubbing her temples, Lydia frowns. “We don’t have any money to pay for a lawyer to do that, Lizzie,” she says, abjectly miserable. 

“I’m working on that,” Lizzie says. “I thought – I thought if you wanted to tell your side, as a – a modifier of your most recent videos – it might help.”

Lydia lays back on her bed, her hands resting on her belly. She breathes quietly, gaze fixed to the ceiling. “Are you going to post what happened earlier?” she asks after a deathly still moment. 

Lizzie tucks her hands into her pockets and scuffs her heel against the carpet. “I – I wanted to. Just to show everyone that you _didn’t_ know.”

“And to demonstrate once again how much of a bitch you can be?” Lydia drawls. 

“That too,” Lizzie mutters. 

Exhaling loudly, Lydia turns her head, eyes meeting Lizzie’s. “Okay,” she says softly. “I think – I think I’d like to do that. But I still don’t know how we’re going to scrape up any sort of money to pay for a lawyer.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Lizzie says, leaning down to touch Lydia’s shoulder. “I’m just – I’m so sorry.”

Shrugging, Lydia fixes her gaze on the ceiling once more. “I wanted to be with him, Lizzie. He’s the one who’s fucking around,” she says bluntly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lizzie wants to say something – but bites her tongue. She leaves the camera and tripod with Lydia with only a gentle warning to be careful and to bring it back when she’s ready. Back in the den, she texts Charlotte the go-ahead with the post. She wants to call Wickham, wants to challenge him to a duel, or something – but she can’t get her mind on straight. 

She needs a lawyer. 

It crosses her mind to call Darcy, to ask – but – no. No. 

She likes him for his own merits, she thinks. She doesn’t want to use him like that. Besides, with a sex tape and a scandal not far off, she’s sure he’ll never be back to see her again. His kindness in the offices of Pemberley Digital was well-done, but nothing withstands the censure and derision of the internet. How could he ever associate with a family that fell into the same trap his did, and lost?

It’s too bad, she thinks, as she shuts her eyes against this terrible day. She would have liked going to the theatre with him. She would have liked doing a lot of things with him. 

*

Two days later, the same day Jane is to arrive home, Lizzie wakes up with a crick in her neck, the doorbell ringing in her ears. The video, now posted, is getting hits and comments like nobody’s business – mostly directed at how ridiculously lame Lizzie was acting, according to Charlotte. Lydia’s point-of-view video is planned to go up today, and Jane is finally coming home to try and help decide what their next step is. 

Lizzie tried to talk to Wickham yesterday. It didn’t go well. The countdown to the release of the sex tape haunts her dreams, just as she’s sure it haunts Lydia’s. Lizzie’s at a loss. 

“LIZZIE!” Lydia hollers. 

The winter sun slips in, too weak for warmth. Lizzie rubs at her eyes and sits up, stiff from a night curled up in the corner of a couch. She inches off of the couch with a wince, dragging herself down the hall to the front door. 

“It’s early,” she murmurs, blinking blearily. 

“There’s a tall smoking-hot dude in a black suit at the door and he looks official,” Lydia hisses, tugging on her elbow. 

“What?” Lizzie says, perking up. 

Lydia opens the front door again, smiling brightly. She bounces back like no one else, Lizzie can give her that much. “So sorry about that,” she says, all coy and soft. 

“God,” Lizzie mumbles, squinting. The man in question, tall and dark and about as old as their father, she thinks, stands quietly on their front porch, a manila envelope in one hand and a briefcase in the other. “Hello?”

“I’m looking for Ms. Lydia Bennet,” he says crisply, voice deep and soothing. 

“That’s me!” Lydia trills. There’s only the hint of red in her gaze; she is all smiles and pleasure today. Lizzie doesn’t know whether to worry or be grateful. 

Clearing his throat, the man hands out the manila envelope. “My name is Rich Williams, I’m a lawyer contracted out of Las Vegas. A tape concerning your personal life has been confiscated, as well as any online reference to it as well. In the envelope is the only hardcopy of the tape, and all digital references have been extracted and taken down from the appropriate websites.” 

Lydia’s jaw drops, the color flushing her cheeks bright red. “Um…”

Lizzie jumps in, fingers shaking. “A _tape_? As in – “

“It was in the possession of George Wickham. It was our understanding that you did not give your permission for the recording or the release of said tape, which is a violation of your privacy,” Mr. Williams says, glancing between Lydia and Lizzie. 

Lizzie blinks, frowning slightly. The line of his jaw, the short-cropped dark curls, the sheen of his skin – “Are you – I’m sorry, the name was Williams?”

“Yes,” he says shortly. He pulls out a sheet of paper on a clipboard from his briefcase. “If you would please sign this as a record of your reception of the tape. My offices will be emailing you details on the removal of the property from all internet sites, and the tracking of the IP address as well,” he says to Lydia. 

“What law office are you with?” Lizzie asks, voice pitched too high. There’s a strange tingling sensation in her fingertips, the hair rising on the back of her neck. 

“Williams and Wentworth,” he says, eyeing her as Lydia skims the paper and signs it. He tears off a copy for her and slips his copy into his briefcase. “Again, we will be in touch.”

As crisply as he came, he was gone, walking off the porch and climbing into his car. Lizzie and Lydia stare as he drives away, mouths agape. 

“I just –“ Lizzie starts, before her phone starts buzzing in her pocket. 

“Is this it?” Lydia breathes, peering into the manila envelope with wide eyes. “Who was that guy?”

Lizzie glances at her phone, flat in her palm. Three messages from Charlotte.

_The countdown is gone???!!!???? How did you do it?_

_There’s no mention of the tape anywhere on any of the usual channels or sites. What happened???_

_Darcy asked me to come up to Pemberley for the day, to work on Domino. Just so you know. Any messages?_

“Oh,” Lizzie breathes, suddenly nauseous. _Williams_. “Fitz is a younger brother – “

“Lizzie?”

She blinks, her gaze going to Lydia. “I guess – I guess we might be okay,” she says at last, smiling faintly as she shuts the front door. 

Lydia toes at the floor, mouth pursed. “I think – I think I still want to post my video,” she says at last.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Lizzie slings a tentative arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “It’s your call,” she says. 

Knuckles white, Lydia grasps the envelope too tightly. “How did you get a lawyer so quickly?” she asks as they walk into the kitchen. 

“Oh, I guess I’m full of surprises,” Lizzie mutters. 

She desperately needs a cup of coffee. Maybe spiked with Kahlua. 

*

_Lizzie Bennet: How did your brother do it?_

_Fitz Williams: Girl, what are you talking about?_

_Lizzie Bennet: Rich Williams, a lawyer who looked a lot like you, showed up at my front door this morning. Care to explain?_

_Fitz Williams: …_

_Lizzie Bennet: FITZ._

_Fitz Williams: Lizzie B, I promised I wouldn’t tell._

_…_

_But, hypothetically…_

*

It’s nearly two weeks past; Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, hours from now. Lizzie sits in the den, her camera and tripod set up in front of her. The night is heavy outside, starless and cloudy. George Wickham is gone, vanished; the tape is no more. Lydia goes to class, goes out with her friends; she is quieter now, slower to mack for the camera; Lizzie thinks she’ll come back to herself, eventually. She misses the old Lydia. 

It could have been quite, quite worse. 

Lizzie sits in front of her camera as she has done for hours now, trying to string words and thoughts together enough for a post. Little has really shifted; Lydia’s self-made video, soft and honest in its sincerity, is the last thing posted on her channel. Jane’s been home, smiling and bubbly, hurt to have missed so much; she holds a secret close to her chest, though. Lizzie knows when she keeps secrets. She’s always had a terrible poker face. 

Meddling has gotten her very little though, and so Lizzie leaves it alone. Jane is coming back for the weekend, and it doesn’t seem like she’ll be alone, if Bing’s twitter is anything to go by. Lizzie just smiles and dreads her mother’s reaction to all of it. 

But it could have been worse; that’s what she takes solace from, even in the face of Lydia’s silences and Jane’s secrets and the heaviness of Darcy’s aid on Lizzie’s shoulders. For it _was_ Darcy, for all the shadows and secrecies behind it all; Darcy had called in a favor with his lawyer, who happens to be Fitz’s older brother – Lizzie thinks of all the money, all the time, all the bad memories to resurface, and can’t imagine what would have been worth it. She wonders almost constantly why he did it, and is scared of what she comes up with. 

She thinks of San Francisco, of the theatre tickets they never used; of his faith in her abilities, of the dedication and loyalty of his staff; there is the memory of the car ride to the airport, his quiet reassuring words that she paid no heed in the moment. His joy in the moment of costume theatre brings a smile to her face. 

She misses him. Misses Gigi, misses Pemberley Digital, misses the feeling of being an important part of something. But really, she misses Will Darcy. 

With that, Lizzie turns on the camera, and smiles right into it. She pulls her hair back from her face. There can be no obstructions. Perhaps he isn’t watching; she’s willing to take the risk. 

She clears her throat, and meets his gaze through cameras and the internet. 

“There’s no Lydia, no crying, no drama this time around, folks. It’s just me, and I just have one thing to say. My name is Lizzie Bennet, and if you’re watching this, Will Darcy, I hope I get to see you again soon.”

*


End file.
